To Federico García Lorca
Spaniard, Spaniard,
chest out and into the sun!
On your back carry your home;
what passes is lived
what’s left is to come;
tomorrow’s another day,
each day has its joy,
with its own pang of pain;
each morning
has its holiest desire
to sing.
Who can steal what we’ve lived,
in the breast of oblivion
the comfort of dreaming.
Translated by Michael Smith
#EscritoresEspañoles #Generación98 (1934) Poemas sueltos
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